The woeful tale of Mary Winchester
by flutterby cupcake
Summary: After burning on the ceiling of her son's nursery, Mary Winchester is given the chance to watch her family with a host on angels. How will she handle seeing her family cope with their grief, unable to reassure them or alleviate their suffering? Can she have some influence over her sons futures? Trigger warning for domestic/mental abuse and neglect.
1. Chapter 1

I should never have woken up. I should have stayed asleep, unaware of what was transpiring in my house. But then I would never have been able to live with myself, leaving Sammy and Dean to their fates. I guess I wouldn't have known what was coming, and I wouldn't have known what was going on in Sammy's nursery. Hindsight is a wonderful thing.

But I did wake up, instantly knowing that John had left the bed, or had never come up at all, and I couldn't sleep on without him. He'd been overworked at the garage, I knew that, and I didn't want to make it hard for him, but I worried. Of course I worried, about all of my boys. John staying out of the bed wasn't what had woken me, it was the static on Sammy's baby monitor, the sound of his distress underneath the interference. It was one of his first nights in his nursery, out of our room, and I wasn't coping without his sweet baby smell. It wasn't time for a night feed, but it could have been time for a diaper change.

I left most of the hallway lights off as I walked to the nursery, not wanting to confuse poor Sammy with a mix up in his routine. When I reached the nursery, it looked as though John was standing over Sammy, watching him even as he calmed down.

When I asked if Sammy was hungry, when he shushed me, it didn't strike me as odd, at all. John and I have - _had_ - a great relationship, but it wasn't without its problems, and with the garage making more and more demands, we'd hit a bad patch. I had acquiesced because I didn't want to end up fighting in Sammy's nursery, waking up Dean who had already taken three stories, one rendition of _Hey, Jude_ and fifteen minutes of 'hugging' time to fall asleep. I was tired too. I was completely off my game.

So much so that I didn't question it when the one light in the hallway we did have on began to flicker. A bad fuse, I thought, or a failing bulb maybe. My father would be so ashamed that I didn't instantly think of the Supernatural. I had worked so hard to keep everything out of my little family, it wasn't something I had wanted to question. And it had been so long since I had encountered something supernatural, why would I have questioned it? I should have known, you don't get to just opt out of being a hunter.

I went downstairs after hearing a noise, and saw the television on, with John asleep on the lay-Z-boy. It took me far too long to realise that John couldn't be in two places at once, that if I could make out the familiar contours of his face as he slept on that chair then it couldn't possibly have been him in the nursery with Sammy. After all, I hadn't looked properly at the figure in the nursery, I'd just assumed … I ran back to Sammy, hating myself for not thinking things through sooner, for not assuming the worst right away. I felt sick to my stomach, wondering what this … this _thing_ could possibly want with my baby. He was six months old! He was concerned with eating solids and trying to sit up and talk just like Dean could, he didn't have to worry about the things that have plagued my entire life.

I called for him as I ran up the stairs, along the hallway. I was so out of practice with running, it felt like I was hardly moving at all, like with every second passing the hallway stretched itself out. Was this person, this thing, this apparition, were they still with Sammy? Or had they finished with him and moved onto Dean? I didn't want either of my beautiful boys hurt.

I finally reached the nursery, feeling short of breath, and saw the figure still there. He turned, and there was a golden sheen across his eyes, just for a moment. But it was long enough for me to remember exactly where I'd seen him before, sort of. Maybe I didn't recognise the meat suit, but I knew this was the creature that had murdered my parents, the one who had nearly snatched my John away. The one who said I could have John back in exchange for something. Was this it? Was it trading John for Sammy? That wasn't fair, it wasn't fair at all. How could you possibly pick between the man you love with every fibre of your being and the tiny, defenceless, innocent baby that you made together? It was a choice I shouldn't have to make. The one silver lining I could see in that moment, was that at least Dean wasn't involved, that one of my boys was definitely safe. Maybe there was something in what I said every night as I tucked him in. Maybe angels truly were watching over my Dean. If only the same could be said for little Sammy.

"It's you." That was all I could think of to say to the thing standing over my baby boy, before I went on attack mode, trying to get to the one precious thing in the room. I hadn't reckoned on the demon's power. He pinned me to the wall and dragged me up it before a pain unlike any I'd felt before ripped its way across my abdomen. I couldn't help but scream from the pain of it, though I didn't want Sammy to worry. I was helpless against a demon, pinned against the ceiling, my stomach stinging, and all I could think of was how this was affecting my beautiful little baby. But Sammy seemed okay. He could see me, immobile and unable to sleep, pinned to the ceiling, and he smiled that adorable, innocent little smile as he realised it was me.

I could hear John as my scream began to fade, calling my name tersely before his feet pounded the stairs. I wanted to call back, to tell him to protect the boys, to apologise for dragging them all into the hell that was my life. I watched, completely helplessly, as he crossed the room to Sammy and smiled down at him, making sure he was okay, almost as though he could hear my silent pleas. And then he touched something on the pillow, and I realised that the pain in my abdomen was a deep gouge, which was dripping blood right by poor Sammy's head. Was this going to scar our baby for life? He looked up and saw me, and there was nothing I could do to stop what happened next. I wanted to tell him to run, take the boys and save them, bring them up safely.

But there was this overwhelming heat all of a sudden, and John fell down, yelling. The heat consumed me, and I could see flames licking out all around me. Sammy began to cry, and John got up, grabbing Sammy, finally acting on my unspoken dying wish. I could hear little Dean in the hallway, and I prayed John would get them both out, and leave me to my fate. If I ended up in Hell, I was searching for that bastard demon and making him undo whatever he did to my precious baby.

But then I heard it, John demanding that Dean take Sam outside. Was John not going to run too? Was he going to make our boys orphans so young, just so we could be together? Who would raise them? My parents were dead, his father had run away, and his mother was senile.

The flames were overwhelming my vision, but I could barely feel them anymore. I could barely feel anything. I could hear John calling my name in the distance, but the flames had taken over.

And then John was gone, and I was lost in the flames, though I could feel myself moving. I couldn't say if it was up or down, left or right, into the searing heat or away from it. I only knew the movement, and the flames, for what felt like forever.

Then suddenly, I was in a barren world, with little defining features. If I were to describe it, I would have said I was in the middle of a cloud, though I stood on solid ground. It was unformed and a dull grey colour. There was a cluster of people just in front of me, all stood around a gaping chasm in the floor, looking down without any comment.

"Hello?" I called tentatively. A woman beside the chasm looked up at me, her face expressionless, her complexion pasty and sickly under her vivid red hair.

"What are you doing here, human? Your soul should be further along."

I didn't understand. And this woman looked so familiar! Had we met before in another life? The thickset man beside her looked up as well, glancing at me before looking at the redhead.

"We are watchers, Anna, are we not? Maybe she needs to be watching also. This does involve her family."

A few of the crowd laughed, and the silent man on the other side of Anna stepped aside, looking at me with kindly eyes.

"Come, watch. They're clearing up the wreckage of your house now."

I walked forward as though I were in a dream, and stood beside the kinder man, whose focus was once more on the chasm. I looked down and gasped, because we were right outside my house. I could have reached over and touched John. The kinder man touched my wrist gently, as though he knew what I was thinking.

"We only watch. That is our duty."

"What are you?" I whispered, my eyes glued on my family, on John holding our boys and kissing the top of Dean's head as he sobbed into his hair, Sammy sleeping through it all. Even as the fire fighters won against the flames and my family huddled together on John's prized Impala. The kinder man took his time to answer.

"We are part of the Heavenly host, the garrison charged with watching over humans."

I suppressed a gasp. What I had always told Dean, was it true? Was it - could it be true? Angels were watching over him. They were watching over all of them. It felt like a small blessing after my death. I felt overwhelmed by my company then, I knew what it meant that I was allowed to be here with them, watching over my family. I bowed my head and watched, grateful at least for the kindly angel who stood next to me with the dark hair, bright blue eyes, and cloak wrapped around himself. There was something comforting in him, and I found myself stepping closer, even as my eyes were fixed on the chasm.

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><p><strong>I wasn't going to upload this straight away, I wanted more chapters written, but I'm way too impatient for that, it turns out. I hope you like it, it's kind of nice not to do a Destiel story for once. Though of course, I love my ship :D but rest assured, this story will not be intentionally Destiel. This is all about Mary Winchester.<strong>


	2. Chapter 2

Watching John, Dean and Sam with the angels was bittersweet. I couldn't get enough of seeing them, I never wanted to tear my eyes away. But watching them go through everything cut so deeply that I could hardly bear to watch.

John hadn't let go of our boys since he'd grouped them onto the car, and they had sat there for at least an hour, watching the firefighters tackle the blaze, before a police officer approached. I was glad for the change if only because I could see that Dean was shivering. John had his bathrobe on over his pyjamas, Sammy was wrapped securely in his blankie, but Dean only had thin flannel pyjamas on, and though the fire had caused some heat it was too far away from him, and as it was put out I knew the air would get colder. Why wasn't John thinking of the boys needs?

I could hear the conversation as clearly as if the police officer were in front of me, talking. Despite the chasm, they seemed close enough to touch. The dark-haired angel beside me touched my wrist again, as a reminder that I had no influence over what was transpiring.

"Sir, do you have any family or friends you could stay with?"

John held the boys tighter to him, yet still seemed oblivious to Dean's shaking body. His little lips were beginning to turn blue. I wanted to talk, to remind him of Alice, who lived the next street over. Her little boy - Alex - often had playdates with Dean. We'd even gone through our second pregnancies together, and her little girl was a few days younger than Sam. We'd joked over coffee that Sam and Laura would get married one day.

But then, I don't think John had ever met Alice. I _have_ mentioned her, and how well Dean played with Alex, and even told him about Sam's betrothal, but I guess it didn't filter through. Or he just couldn't think straight. He never mentioned Alice.

"No. There's no one."

I searched Dean's face, hoping for him to correct his father, to point out any number of the local boys and girls whose family might take pity on them. But he was shivering worse than ever, though his eyelids were drooping. He needed to warm up in bed. Sammy must have needed a diaper change by then too. But still, John didn't notice.

"Well, we will need you to stay close by, we want to question you about the fire tomorrow. There's a motel ten blocks away."

John nodded, and climbed off the car with Sammy in his arms, clipping him into his car seat with stiff arms and fumbling fingers. He made sure the straps were secure, and then headed to the driver's door.

"Daddy?" Dean's small, quavering voice broke through the darkness. "I can't get down."

He was still perched on the trunk, shivering. John sighed heavily, but came back for Dean, picking him up and putting him into the car as well, clipping his seat belt in place and heading back into the driver's side. He started the engine, that familiar rumble sounding far louder than normal, drowning out the noise of the sirens for a moment.

"Daddy?" Dean started again. "Where's Mommy?"

Oh, _Dean_. I clutched my hand to my heart, the only useless action that the angels would allow me to make. I saw a tear snake its way down John's cheek, and he bit his lip, before putting the car into drive and heading for the motel the officer had suggested. He never gave Dean an answer. But I wanted to, I wanted to tell Dean that Mommy was right here, that Mommy was watching over him with the angels now, and he had to be so brave.

Dean fell asleep during the short drive, and I knew that despite whatever else he was feeling, John would be grateful for that. I was too, Dean needed to sleep, and I could understand John's reticence to admit what had happened. How do you tell a four-year-old boy that Mommy had died? How do you explain to a small child the idea that someone has gone, been lost forever to you? If John needed time to explain that to him, then I could understand that.

They pulled into the motel lot, and John unclipped Sammy from his car seat, walking him into the building and leaving Dean dozing in the car. He can carry both boys at once, he used to show off about it on a rare day off. Dean would laugh so hard as his Daddy picked him up with one hand, still cradling Sammy in the other arm, and I would panic about their safety. But then John would remind me that he was once a marine, he could handle it. I think he was just impressed with himself that he could still effectively bench press two children, though there was probably only seventy pounds between them. It made no sense to leave Dean in the car. It wasn't safe.

But he did, he took Sammy in as he checked in, and got a crib sorted, and some milk and diapers. He had nothing in the Impala, and he hadn't been allowed back into the house to get Sam's necessities even if he'd had the presence of mind to retrieve them. Once Sammy was settled, he ran back to the car and grabbed Dean, carrying him as gently as he could despite rushing to get back in the room. That's why he should have carried them both together, then neither of them would have been left alone. John settled Dean into the bed, before making sure the door and windows were securely locked, and Sammy was okay. Then he retrieved a beer from the minibar, and began gulping it down as he sat on the edge of the bed.

I wish he had taken the boys to the hospital, just to check that they hadn't inhaled any smoke. They could have been warm, clean, dry and well cared for. They would have an abundance of diapers and formula for Sammy. Dean would have had toys to play with when he woke up. But John was stubborn with the paramedics and insisted they hadn't been near the fire, that of course they didn't inhale any smoke. I had sighed heavily, and the dark-haired angel beside me had taken the opportunity to reprimand me, reminding me that I was powerless now, and John would make his own decisions.

I watched the boys the entire night, for any small sign that they had gotten hurt in the fire. I tried to ignore how much of the minibar beer and miniatures John managed to put away before he rolled over onto the bed, cuddling up to Dean the way he did to me at night, and sank into a drunken sleep. Dean didn't seem to mind his father's weight pressing against him, he didn't even stir as John practically rolled on top of him. I wanted to check closer, to make sure Dean was okay, but it wasn't allowed, and I didn't want the angels to kick me out, to unceremoniously remove me from my babies. I couldn't say goodbye before I died, I couldn't handle that kind of goodbye as well. The most final kind, where they become a ghost of a memory.

The morning sun pierced through the flimsy curtains, and it made Sammy stir. He woke up gurgling, and I recognised the sounds as only a mother can. He was hungry, but he was still coming to. I could almost time the change from happy baby noises to saddened, hungry snuffles. John didn't react, but Dean's eyes blinked open, and he shuffled out from underneath John as best he could, before patting a chubby little hand against John's cheek.

"Daddy? Daddy, Sam's awake."

John rolled over, burying his head underneath the pillow, as Sam began to cry. Dean patted his shoulder again, and I clutched my chest even tighter. Dean wouldn't understand that John was sleeping off the alcohol. I've always protected him from John's drinking before, which never even touched the amount he put away last night. I've told him that Daddy was working late, he needed a lie in, and Dean had to play quietly. But he wasn't going to remember now. Sam's wails picked up in volume, and John clutched the pillow tighter to his head.

'Daddy? Sammy's crying."

"I know, Dean." John growled from under the pillow, and I was desperate to reach out, reassure Dean that he wasn't doing anything wrong, pick Sammy up and give him his bottle. What on earth was John thinking? Yes, the fire had been traumatic and I can't even begin to imagine what I looked like, stuck to the ceiling, but we still had two young boys, and Sammy wasn't going to know any different. All he knew was that he needed a feed, and a diaper change.

"Daddy, Sammy's hungry. And where's Mommy?"

"Be quiet, Dean," John grunted, but I could barely hear him as Sammy's cries turned desperate. Dean looked in the cot at his brother, his eyes running along the top bar that was out of his reach. As though he was going to help Sam all by himself. Tears sprang to my eyes, and I looked around to see if any of the angels had noticed. None of them seemed to react, all staring down passively at the events unfolding before us. All except the dark-haired one beside me, whose name I still hadn't learned. He was cocking his head slightly, as though he were learning something new and mildly interesting but wasn't sure what to make of the new information.

"He'll help Sammy," I blurted at the angel. His eyes flickered up to my face, and his expression was kindly.

"It appears to be that way."

I looked again, as Dean tucked a bottle and some formula into his pants waistband, and then scaled the side of the cot, dropping in with his brother, and trying to work quickly to open the bottle, put the formula in and reseal the bottle. His tiny fingers fumbled so many times, and each time he would look up, eyes full of tears, at John who remained comatose on the bed. Then he would persevere, accidentally spilling some formula on the bed and taking five attempts to screw the teat back on, before he had managed it, putting the bottle into Sammy's mouth and brushing his hand over Sammy's face. He looked again at John, and then around the room.

"Daddy? When's Mommy coming?" He asked over the slurping, sucking noises that Sammy was creating with the bottle. John finally sat up, glaring at Dean, his eyes bloodshot and stubble long.

"Dammit, Dean, quit asking about your Mom!"

Dean curled up into himself, unused to John yelling at him.

"Don't talk to him like that, he's four! He didn't see me, John, he doesn't know!" I couldn't help yelling into the chasm. The dark-haired angel beside me held me back from stepping into the chasm.

"They can't hear you either, Mary."

I curled up into his shoulder, crying in frustration. He allowed it, but the arm around my back was limp, a gesture rather than a source of comfort.

"I just want to know my babies are going to be okay," I sniffed into his shoulder. "I wish John would just think of them."

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><p><strong>I hope this story is okay! I was expecting to spend less time on the first few days after Mary's death, but it seems like it's necessary to tell a little bit more.<strong>

**I've been asked by a couple of people who read the first chapter before I posted what I think of John Winchester, because obviously this is going to touch on that topic and it seems like a very divided thing. I'm hoping it'll come out as I go along, but I think he made a lot of mistakes through his grief that resonated years down the line with Sam and Dean. The abuse they suffered was never intentional, but a side effect of a man who couldn't cope with the hand he'd been dealt. And I'm not entirely sure about physical abuse being present (though Dean said enough in Heaven to make you wonder) but they were neglected in canon, and I guess that's what I'll be touching on with this story.**


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